


let's make things physical

by phantomfantaaa



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Bisexual Jack, Canon Rewrite, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Discussions of Homophobia, Don't forget the pie, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Jack is a Dork, Literal Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Eric "Bitty" Bittle, Pining, They're all dorks, as in injury, bitty is a dork, bitty is a hopeless romantic and so is jack, but also ~feelings~
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24386815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phantomfantaaa/pseuds/phantomfantaaa
Summary: He doesn’t actually feel the impact of the collision, but the next second feels like eternity. He sees himself, in slow motion, completely separate from the puck, launch into the air, and tumble over the D-man. His head meets the ice, and then the world goes dark.When Bitty opens his eyes again, he’s laying on his back in the locker room. And then Jack bursts in with blood on his face, and Bitty’s life begins to change.
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 21
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> the timeline is sort of off because i wanted to use some original dialogue, but i don't have enough brain cells to make it make sense ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“Birkholtz, Oluransi! You two shut down anyone who starts creeping into that neutral zone. Zimmerman, win the face off and kick the puck to the wings.”

Bitty barely hears Coach Hall’s directions over the roar of the crowd. The score is 3-3 and there are less than two minutes on the clock.

“Boys, this is not the last play of the season — _come on._ ”

Bitty tries to ignore the knot in his stomach as he skates away from the bench. If this play works, if they could get this goal, they would make it to Frozen Four. And after that was the _finals_ and maybe they actually had a shot at the championship title. But if they don’t win this game, then this is the last game of the season...

Bitty shakes himself out of his thoughts. One game at a time, one play at a time — that’s what Jack always says. He remembers Jack’s voice giving all the pre-game pep talks, passionate and determined, _All we can do is take it one game at a time and do our best._

“Hey! Bittle!”

Bitty turns his head just as Jack skates up and bumps his shoulder. He can feel the warmth of Jack’s body pressed against his arm despite the ice and two layers of pads.

“Bitty — if you get the puck, wheel around back door and send it to me between the dots. You can get past that D-man.”

Bitty follows Jack’s finger and sees a player who has at least seven inches and sixty pounds on Bitty. “But that’s the same guy who knocked the wind out of Holster second period. He’s...he’s huge. Jack, I don’t think I should—”

Jack turns and puts his hand on the back of Bitty’s neck, and Bitty looks up to meet Jack’s focused eyes.

“Bitty. I’ve got your back.” The corner of his mouth quirks in a lopsided little smile, and Bitty gulps. He trusts his captain, and if Jack says he has Bitty’s back, then all he can do is give it his best shot.

Bitty tries to return the smile, but with the knot tightening in his stomach, it feels more like a grimace. He skates to position and watches Jack crouch down, eyes glued to the puck, stick on center ice, ready to win the face off.

Everything happens so quickly, until it doesn’t. One second, Jack is shooting the puck to Bitty, and Bitty is skating as if his life depended on it, faster than he has ever skated in his life, and he’s getting closer to the goal, barely registering the pounding cheers against the plexiglass next to his face, and he’s almost there, and he just has to get past this D-man, and suddenly….

Time stops.

He doesn’t actually feel the impact of the collision, but the next second feels like eternity. He sees himself, in slow motion, completely separate from the puck, launch into the air, and tumble over the D-man. His head meets the ice, and then the world goes dark.

Bitty opens his eyes and sees a glaring fluorescent light, or maybe two? He blinks a few times and tries to focus his vision. He’s laying on his back in the locker room, which means he had to get carried off the ice. He feels someone gently push him into a sitting position, and he is met face-to-face by the team medic. She does the standard diagnostic — keeping his eyes on her finger, does it hurt anywhere in particular, shining a light in his eyes, asking about headaches or pain, poking for broken bones or fractures, testing his balance.

“It’s a mild concussion. You’ll be fine if you avoid physical activity and take a break from hockey for the summer, and you should be good to play by next season. You’re lucky, kid — at least you didn’t break anything.” 

Okay, so he has a concussion. This is fine. Everything is fine. Except if they win this game, then he won’t be able to play in the Frozen Four. And if they made it even further? He’ll just have to sit on the bench and watch his team win the NCAA championship without him on the ice. This was fine. Yes. Completely fine, even though he’s already at risk of getting cut from the team, and… 

Before he can spiral any further, he hears voices coming into the locker room. As they get closer, he realizes that they’re arguing, and suddenly Jack bursts into the room with Coach Murray and is sporting a massive cut on his mouth, blood flowing down his chin and everything. There’s a pinch between his eyebrows — a voice in the back of Bitty’s mind remembers that this means something is really bothering him — and he throws his helmet on the ground.

“Coach, I know it was stupid, and I know he was trying to get me riled up, but you should have heard—” Jack stops short when he sees Bitty, and he unsuccessfully attempts to smooth his face into a mask.

Bitty is staring and remembers to close his mouth, then opens it again and all his words spill out in a jumble, “Jack! My goodness, what on _earth_ happened? Are you okay? Did you get hit?”

“Bitty.” Jack clenches and unclenches his jaw. “Bittle. I’m fine.” 

Bitty can’t stop the Southern drawl from popping out when he frantically interrogates Jack. “You’re _fine_ ? You don’t _look_ fine! Goodness, Jack look at yourself, do you even see how much blood is—” 

“Bittle, it’s okay. I’m fine.” Jack’s eyes soften and his voice lowers. “Are you okay? That hit…” Jack curses under his breath in Québécois, but before he can say anything else, the team medic re-appears with a gauze kit and is already dabbing at Jack’s cut with antiseptic. He keeps his mouth still for the medic, and Bitty doesn’t know what to say, so he sits in awkward silence and tries to not notice Jack’s winces when the medic stitches up his chin. 

After she ties off the last stitch and applies a bandage, Jack gingerly presses a finger against the injury and hisses through his teeth. Bitty notices his knuckles are bruised. 

“Jack? Did you…did you hit someone?” 

Jack closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Once he opens them, he’s staring at the ground, and his voice is low. 

“After you got carried off the ice, that D-man kept chirping me, taunting me, and he said...” Jack pauses for a moment, glances at Bitty, and returns to the floor. “He said some things that I didn’t like.” 

“So you _punched_ him? For a chirp? Goodness, Jack, what could he have said that made you so angry? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you start a fight before.”

Jack looks back up at Bitty, and his eyes are softer, the lines in his frown gone. He holds the eye contact, and Bitty feels a blush creep up his cheeks and desperately hopes that Jack won’t notice. 

“It wasn’t just a chirp, it was…” Jack trails off, still staring into his eyes. Bitty suppresses a shudder. Jack had this way of holding such an intense gaze, like those blue eyes could stare into your soul. Jack’s eyes flicker down to what Bitty is about twenty percent sure was his lips but then Jack is looking back up and focused on Bitty, and Bitty figures he imagined it. Maybe the concussion was making him see things. It doesn’t stop the way his stomach flips into his throat. He feels lightheaded, but that might also just be the concussion. 

The silence lasts for a second longer than what feels like normal, and Jack is still staring at him, but before it can get awkward, deafening cheers cut through and the trance is broken. It takes another half-second for Bitty to realize what’s happening, and his mouth drops and curves into a wide grin that matches Jack’s. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Shitty’s carries over the cheers and into the locker room. 

“WE FUCKING DID IT, BOYS!”

They actually won. They made it to the Frozen Four. Jack claps Bitty on the shoulder, stands up, and reaches out an arm to help Bitty get steady on his feet. Whatever tension that was in the air has disappeared, but Bitty still acutely notices the way Jack throws his arm over Bitty’s shoulders as they walk through the tunnel. Jack doesn’t move his arm until they’re on the ice with their teammates, and as the crowd spills in to join the celebrations, Bitty can still feel the ghost of Jack’s thumb tracing tiny circles on his shoulder. He tucks the memory away and makes a mental note to overanalyze it later. 

But first, he was going to get royally wasted at the Kegster that was inevitably happening at the Haus, because even though he couldn’t play for the rest of the season, the Samwell Men’s Hockey Team was going to the Frozen Fucking Four. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


Bitty is _drunk_. He looks at the beer in Jack’s hand, only his third for the night, because Jack is a responsible drinker and possibly a boring old man. He’s turned away from Bitty and animatedly talking with Holster about….something about history? Bitty overhears what sounds like “negotiation treaties” and “World War II” and idly wonders if Jack ever does anything that doesn’t make him an infuriatingly cute dork. 

Wait. Cute? _Oh_ _no_. 

Earlier memories from that night flood in. The tension during the conversation in the locker room, the heat in his cheeks when Jack stared at him, the feeling of Jack’s finger tracing his skin. And then it all clicks. Bitty cannot believe this is happening to him again. He lets out a groan and buries his face in his hands, cursing himself for catching feelings for his unattainable, emotionally distant, _heterosexual_ captain. He needs to put at least 50 feet between him and Jack before he does something he regrets when he’s sober. He needs more tub juice. 

So he embarks on a mission to find more tub juice, and after stumbling through the Haus, he finds Shitty sitting on the porch with Lardo next to the aforementioned tub. He wobbles over, fills a cup, and plops down on the front steps next to Shitty. 

“Bitty, my man!” Shitty’s slurring a bit, which means he’s probably six or seven drinks in. “Brah, is that tub juice? We accidentally,” Shitty wiggles his eyebrows at Bitty for emphasis, “made it wicked strong this time, so be careful. I think some volleyball frosh is puking in the back because he drank too much.”

Bitty looks down into his cup and grimaces but takes a sip anyways because he is, once again, here to get _wasted_. Lardo leans over Shitty’s lap and elbows Bitty. 

“Dude, should you even be drinking right now? That was a pretty nasty check you took out there tonight.” 

Bitty vaguely waves his hand in the air. He mutters, his words also beginning to slur together, “It’s fine. It’s just a mild concussion. I’m trying to get lit, Lardo.” 

“I mean, if you say so.” She shrugs and leans back, taking out a pre-rolled joint and lighting it. Bitty laughs — he didn’t literally mean lit, but he _is_ , as he said, here to get _wasted_. They sit side-by-side in silence, soaking in the still almost-spring air and muffled music pulsing from the Haus, passing the joint between each other. 

Bitty breaks the silence. “Hey, Shitty?” 

“Yes, my dear Bitty?” Shitty responds with cadence before he puts his mouth to the joint in Lardo’s outstretched hand and inhales.

“Did you…do you know what happened tonight with Jack? When he got hit?” Bitty tries to swallow but his throat feels dry.

“Ah. So Jack didn’t tell you?” 

Bitty closes his eyes and tilts his head back to face the sky. “Nope. He was really vague about it when I asked in the locker room. He said the D-man who checked me was chirping? Did you hear what he said?” 

Shitty exhales the breath he’s been holding, billowing smoke into the night. He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. When he finally speaks, he sounds more sober. “He was trying to antagonize Jack, I think. He kept calling you a…well, he said some pointed slurs, calling you a bunch of things for not being able to take a check…” 

Bitty now understands why Jack didn’t want to tell him. His gut knows, but he doesn’t know if he wants it confirmed. It had never happened before, but....well, hockey is a contact sport with a bunch of dudebros, and it was bound to happen at some point. The alcohol in his blood gives him the courage to ask bluntly, “So the guy called me a faggot?” 

Shitty turns his head to look at Bitty. “Yeah, dude. Shit was fucked.” 

Lardo lets out a low whistle. Bitty’s chest tightens and suddenly he feels small, vulnerable, like he’s seven years old and in peewee football again. He knows it comes with the sport, and honestly he’s surprised it took this long before someone actually said it, but it still makes him feel angry and hurt and tired and… 

Bitty’s stream of consciousness snags on a detail. The D-man hadn’t even chirped Jack directly. He was just trash talking Bitty behind his back, which means Jack was…defending his honor? Does punching a guy because he said a slur even count as defending someone’s honor? His head starts spinning, and he presses his palms against the ground to stop himself from tipping off the steps. He needs to find Jack. No, he probably needs to throw up. He grips the railing and hauls himself to his feet, says he’s going inside to get some water, and goes back into the Haus. He wobbles through the thinning crowd — he checks his watch and it’s 1:37 AM — and scans the room for Jack even though his brain is screaming at him to find a toilet, or just go the fuck to sleep before he does something he definitely would not do if he was sober right now. But it’s too late because he found Jack and is making eye contact with Jack and now Jack is walking over to him oh shit be cool be cool be cool… 

“HI JACK!” Bitty squeaks, voice approximately an octave higher than usual, right as he trips over his own foot and falls straight into Jack. Yup. Super cool, Bitty.

Jack curls his fingers around Bitty’s shoulders (god were his hands always that huge?) and steadies him. Bitty barely catches the soft laugh that escapes Jack’s lips. 

“Hey Bittle haha you okay?” 

Bitty looks up and tries to not explode at how long Jack’s eyelashes are. 

“Yeah, I’m great! Totally okay. Yup.” Even Bitty can tell it’s pretty unconvincing. 

“Bittle, how many drinks did you have tonight? You should go to bed.” 

Great, now Jack probably thinks Bitty can’t handle his alcohol. “It’s cool, I’m cool...I’m just tipsy.” His staggering legs betray him. “...Very tipsy.” 

Jack’s voice is stern but there’s a hint of fondness. “Bitty, you just tripped over your own feet and you can barely stand. You’re definitely a bit more than tipsy. _And_ you just got a concussion. Let’s get you upstairs.” 

Bitty tries to protest that it was just a _mild_ concussion, but he doesn’t stop Jack when he wraps an arm around his waist for support. He gets distracted looking at the injury on Jack’s face, and he tries to picture how Jack would look with a scar. Bitty decides it would look totally fucking hot, and he’s into it. 

At this point, Jack is practically carrying Bitty over his shoulder and up the stairs. Bitty pretends to kick his legs, whining that he doesn’t need Jack to _carry_ _him_ , and some part of his brain that’s still capable of rational thought is mortified right now. Jack simply says, “Bitty you’re what, like 150 pounds?” He pats the backs of Bitty’s flailing legs, and Bitty cranes his neck to see Jack smirk. “You know, if you want to be a big and strong boy, you should eat more protein.” 

Bitty dramatically throws an arm over his face, his drawl coming out like he’s a Southern belle. “Jack Laurent Zimmerman, I’ll have you know that I can skate faster than you! Maybe _you’re_ the one who needs more protein.” There’s no bite to his chirp, especially when he can feel the rock-hard curves of Jack’s shoulder against his stomach, Jack’s strong arm wrapped around his waist, Jack’s impossibly huge hand against his hip, the muscles of Jack’s back shifting and moving against his chest. Oh lord he was getting carried away, and his limbs were currently arranged in a particularly inappropriate position to be getting turned on right now. 

Thankfully, they arrive at his room and Bitty clambers off Jack. _He’s straight_ , Bitty reminds himself, _and you need to chill. Like, take two chill pills. Maybe three._ He opens his bedroom door but before he goes in his room, Jack puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“You okay for the rest of the night?” Jack sounds more soft than concerned. Bitty turns around and can’t stop the honey from oozing into his voice.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thank you, Jack.” He smiles and whispers _Goodnight_ and closes the door, and before it fully shuts, he sees Jack through the crack with a lopsided grin. 

“Goodnight, Bits.” 

Huh. Bits. That’s a new one. He makes another mental note to overanalyze this, along with everything else that happened in the last seven hours, right before he pukes in his trash bin and collapses on his bed, asleep before he can even take his shoes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please don't ever actually drink when you have a concussion lmao


	2. Chapter 2

_ Come take my hand, I won’t let you go _ . 

Bitty sings along and absentmindedly sways his hips to the beat, his fingers rolling pie crust over a tin. 

_ I’ll be your friend, I will love you so, deeply.  _

He reaches for the bowl of sliced apples and begins to arrange them, starting at the center and spiraling outward in an intricate pattern. 

_ I will be the one to kiss you at night.  _

Bitty takes a moment to belt out Bey and dramatically reach out to some imaginary man, and he pretends the man doesn’t look suspiciously like a tall, blue-eyed, French-Canadian, hockey-playing boy. His experienced hands resume pinching along the edges of the crust. 

_ I will love you until the end of time.  _

His dance moves get more exaggerated when the beat picks up. He’s practically pirouetting around the counter, maple crusted apple pie cradled in his arms and ready for Betsy, when his body suddenly collides with another. 

Bitty yelps and clutches the pie closer to his chest, and when he looks up and sees the obstruction, he lets out another tiny squeak. “Jack! You scared me, sneaking in like that! How long have you even been standing there?”

Jack leans against the doorframe and sheepishly grins. Bitty tries to not notice the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles, like  _ really _ smiles. Or how his biceps bulge when he crosses his arms in front of his chest like that. Bitty is failing spectacularly, and he already feels a blush blossoming from his neck. 

“Long enough to see some stellar dance moves, Bittle. You know, Ransom and Holster may be onto something. We could probably make a play with those spins.” 

“Mr. Zimmerman, I will not have you exploiting my incredible grace and spectacular dance moves in the name of hockey!” 

Jack lets out a bemused snort. “Spectacular, maybe, but I don’t know about incredible grace. If I recall correctly, someone just danced so gracefully that he ran straight into me.” The heat rises to Bitty’s face when he remembers how Jack felt pressed up against him. Even if it was by accident. For only half a second. He turns his back to Jack to presumably reach the oven, but it’s mostly to hide his pink cheeks.

“It’s not my fault you were just standing there in silence and watching me like a creep!” 

He feels the hot air blast in his face when he opens the oven door, and he bends over to slide the pie in. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jack raise his hands up in surrender. That stupid smirk doesn’t leave his face, though. “Besides, weren’t you supposed to leave a few hours ago for that training camp in Providence?” Bitty thinks about the thousand mile distance between Rhode Island and Georgia. 

“Yeah, I’m about to head out, but I had to take care of a few things first.” Jack suddenly looks nervous and fidgets with the duffel strap on his shoulder, his eyes darting around the kitchen. “Speaking of, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Bitty feels his throat instantly swell shut, and his brain starts racing at a million miles an hour. Conversations that start with _ We need to talk  _ rarely mean good news. Does Jack know about his crush? Is Jack going to say he’s uncomfortable and doesn’t want to be friends anymore? Bitty tries to keep it cool and stands up, wipes his flour-dusted hands on his apron, and sets a timer on his phone. He braces his hands against the countertop, and when he opens his mouth, his voice sounds strangled. “Of course. You know I’m always here if you want to talk. What’s up, Jack?”

Jack finally looks at Bitty, but he struggles to find the right words to say. “I wanted to formally apologize. About that hit. At playoffs. I said I had your back, and I let you down.” 

A breath of relief rushes out of Bitty’s lungs. So Jack doesn’t know about his feelings after all. He’s still safe with his little fantasy. 

“Oh, Jack, you never even had to apologize for that. Checks like that are normal in hockey.” 

“I shouldn’t have told you to make that play. It was too risky, and you got hurt because of it.”

Bitty hops up to sit on the counter in front of Jack. He reaches over and gently places a hand on Jack’s forearm. “Honey, don’t worry your cute head about it.” Jack raises his eyebrows at  _ Honey _ and Bitty nervously laughs out a  _ Oh hush, you,  _ hoping his pronounced Southern drawl convinces Jack that it’s just a Georgia thing. “If anything, I should be thanking you for punching that D-man after I left the ice and…” Bitty’s voice trails off, “um...and....defending my honor. Or whatever.” His face feels like it’s on fire and he’s sure his cheeks are bright red right now.

“Or whatever?” Jack chuckles, rubs the back of his neck, and averts his gaze downward. “I assume you found out about what that guy said?” Bitty nods silently. “I figured someone would eventually tell you, or you would somehow figure it out on your own.” 

“Yeah, I asked Shitty at the Kegster that night.” Bitty doesn’t say anything for a moment, then he leans down slightly with his head tilted sideways to catch Jack’s eyes. “Jack, can I ask you something?” 

Jack’s lips twitch and he says, “Go for it.” 

“Why’d you do it?” Jack slowly straightens his neck and stares at Bitty. “You’re usually so good at keeping your cool during games. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you snap or even get in a fight on the ice.” Jack pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, and Bitty continues. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m honored that you threw that punch for me, especially because of what he said about me. You’re, like, the gay ally of the century right there.” Bitty can’t stop the slightly hysterical laugh that bubbles from his sternum. 

Jack’s eyes dart between the floor and Bitty’s face, and he runs a hand through his hair. “Ah, you see...about that…I, euh...” Eyes jump back up to Bitty and stay there, transfixed. “I’m not an ally.” Bitty opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, the rest of Jack’s sentences tumble out. “I’m also gay. Well, bi actually. But yeah. It felt really personal, and I can’t let assholes spew bigoted shit like that without some consequences.” 

Bitty barely hears the rest of Jack’s words. He’s pretty sure his brain has short circuited. Did Jack just say he was...bisexual? As in, Jack was attracted to  _ men?  _ Men like Bitty? Did Jack just come out to him? Did Bitty actually have a chance? Bitty’s not sure how he’s even forming coherent thoughts right now. 

Jack sounds like he’s also struggling to form complete sentences. “Actually, I should probably— I, um… should probably also tell you...euh…” 

Bitty feels dizzy and thinks he might throw up. His heart has stopped and is simultaneously beating out of his chest. 

“ _ Crisse _ , I’m not very good at this.” Bitty thinks to himself that he will actually have an aneurism if Jack does not spit it out in the next second, but Jack is muttering under his breath and walking toward Bitty, and suddenly Bitty feels strong hands on either side of his cheeks, and— 

Bitty’s brain shuts down, then explodes against his skull. He only has one brain cell left, and all it knows is that Jack’s mouth is so  _ warm _ . Bitty is frozen in shock for a second, but the second passes, and Bitty’s body is melting into Jack’s arms as if they were perfectly sculpted to fit against his body. It’s kind of an awkward kiss, as most first kisses are. They’re not quite familiar with each other’s angles yet, and they accidentally bump teeth but smile through it. 

It’s far too quick for Bitty’s liking, and he whines in the back of his throat when they pull apart for air. Jack is still staring at Bitty’s lips, and before he knows it, their mouths slot back together and the world feels right again. Jack’s tongue brushes against his lips, and he immediately parts them to deepen the kiss. He’s starved, like he has never known sustenance until today, and now he can’t get enough. It feels frantic, long overdue, and every nerve in Bitty’s body is on fire.

Jack’s mouth moves from Bitty’s and travels down the vast expanse of Bitty’s pale neck. Bitty cranes his neck to give Jack maximum access, and a quiet moan escapes when Jack presses his lips to the soft skin behind Bitty’s ear. Hips bump against knees, Jack’s thigh lightly presses against the space between Bitty’s legs, and Bitty’s body automatically opens to share as much contact as possible. His hands curl into fists in Jack’s hair, and Jack is doing something that feels downright  _ sinful _ to Bitty’s exposed collarbone. 

A chiming jingle startles them out of their trance. 

They pull apart with reluctance, panting, and Bitty stares at Jack’s lips, red and swollen and wet. Bitty pictures some very inappropriate things involving those lips, and he silently apologizes to his Protestant upbringing. 

It takes Bitty a moment to register that the ringing is his timer. He scrambles off the counter, dashes to Betsy, pulls a golden brown pie out of the oven, and says a silent  _ thank you _ to the universe for the few extra seconds to figure out what to say to Jack, because what the  _ fuck _ just happened. Bitty turns back to place the pie on the counter to cool. Jack pulls out his phone to check the time and swears under his breath. 

“ _ Tabarnak.  _ It’s almost rush hour.” He grabs his duffel, abandoned by the doorway, and reaches out to grab Bitty’s hand. “I should head out soon.” 

Bitty yelps and pulls away from Jack to fling open a cabinet. In thirty seconds, he has magically acquired a matching tupperware and lid, filled it with a fresh slice of pie, and shoved the container into Jack’s hands.

Bitty is still reeling from the kiss and isn’t sure what to say, but he knows how to talk about pie, so that’s what he does. “It’s maple crusted apple, your favorite! I found some pure maple at the murder stop-and-shop, and I know how picky you can be about your syrup because you’re a Canadian prince, so I crystallized it to make this sweet maple crust—”

Jack cuts him off with another kiss, this one short and chaste. When he pulls back and grins, his blue eyes are filled with light. “Bits, breathe.” He’s holding Bitty by the shoulders, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into his skin. Bitty breathes in deep through his nose then exhales with a loud  _ whoosh _ through his mouth. 

“I just...what...how…  _ Jack Laurent Zimmerman _ , I have so many questions!” 

“And I probably have some answers,” Jack chuckles. “But that’s going to be a long conversation, and I really do need to head out soon if I don’t want to get stuck in traffic.” 

But Jack still lingers and twines his fingers with Bitty’s. He presses soft lips to the corner of Bitty’s mouth, the arch of his cheekbone, and finally the top of his forehead. Bitty thinks his bones have dissolved, and he is now a puddle on the kitchen floor. 

Jack whispers into Bitty’s hair, “Thank you, Bits. For everything. I’ll text you, okay? Or I can call you tonight.” 

Bitty huffs and pouts but understands that Jack really does need to go. Maybe it’s a good idea to take a bit of time and sort through his own racing thoughts before they talk about whatever this thing is that’s happening between them. 

Jack leaves the kitchen, not letting go of Bitty’s hand until the distance breaks them apart. He opens the front door, and one foot is already over the threshold when Bitty calls out, “Wait, Jack! Is this for real?” 

Jack turns around, still with a dorky grin on his face, and it makes Bitty’s heart melt.

“Yeah, Bits. It’s real for me.” 

Jack finally leaves, and Bitty hears the low rumble of his car stretch into the distance until it’s gone, and the Haus fills with silence. Bitty doesn’t leave his spot in the kitchen, fingers ghosting over his lips, until the sun has set. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if social distancing means i can't make out with anyone, then that just means i have to live vicariously through zimbits fics


	3. Chapter 3

The only thought in Bitty’s head is  _ bluuurgghadsfjskf. _

It’s not that Bitty  _ isn’t _ a morning person. You kind of have to be one when you’re a student athlete with morning practices every day before class. But the sun isn’t even up yet, so it doesn’t even feel like morning, and it’s already cold outside even though it’s barely September, and the last thing Bitty wants to do right now is put on pants and crawl across campus to Faber. He takes a deep breath, counts to ten, and rolls out of bed. 

The most frustrating part is that, after a semester and a half of 5 a.m. practices, he had  _ finally _ resolved his little pass-out-on-center-ice-whenever-he-got-checked problem. But with one miscalculated play and a mild concussion, all that progress had gone out the window. Bitty tries to look on the bright side — at least he’s cleared to play hockey again. He remembers how it felt to helplessly watch his team lose the NCAA semifinals from the bench. He never wants to relive that, so he asked Jack to resume checking practice at the beginning of the year. 

When he reaches Faber, the sun is barely peeking over the horizon. Jack is already leaning against the wall by the entrance (as expected) holding two cups of Annie’s (as expected). One black coffee for Jack and one pumpkin spice latte for Bitty, but Bitty knows Jack will end up stealing a few sips. Bitty reaches on his toes to press a quick kiss on Jack’s cheek, mumbles  _ Good morning sweetheart _ , and takes his latte. 

They skate slow laps around the rink, side by side, to warm up. Their legs move together in a steady rhythm, and it feels so easy. Being with Jack feels so easy. Bitty thought that being in love would mean constant fire and adrenaline and fireworks, but it’s nothing like that. The fire is still there, but it feels less like a roaring wildfire and more like the glowing embers of a hearth. It’s steady and soft and warm, and it feels like home. Skating next to Jack, early morning practices with Jack, playing in the same line as Jack, falling asleep next to Jack… It all feels like home. Jack is Bitty’s home now. 

It’s hard to imagine a time when Bitty thought Jack hated him. Which he sort of did, for a while last fall. Bitty thought he was actually going to die — and not in a good way — when Jack decided that he needed one-on-one checking practices. Lord, those practices were so awkward at first, and even Bitty’s Southern charm couldn’t figure out how to interact with a captain who hated his guts. 

But as time went on, the newness faded and was replaced by a comfortable routine. Bitty would talk about his baking plans for the day, and Jack would talk about hockey strategy. It went on like that for a while. Bitty isn’t sure when things started to change, but they eventually started opening up with each other. Bitty talked less about baking and more about how he was scared to come out to his parents. Jack’s list of plays became an ongoing reflection on his anxiety. It was during those mornings that Bitty learned that Jack used to be left-handed but trained himself to switch for hockey, that Jack had a close relationship with his parents and called them nearly every week, and that Jack actually hated history movies but watched nature documentaries when he felt stressed. Those mornings made Bitty fall in love before he even realized it. 

Bitty is thankful for those mornings. They turned into study sessions on the sun-baked Haus lawn, coffee runs at Annie’s before class, late nights in the kitchen where Bitty prepped for breakfast pancakes and Jack sat at the counter writing history papers. Everything that Bitty has now, with Jack, started with those mornings. 

Bitty feels Jack lightly nudge his ribs and looks over to him. Jack, his passionate, driven, focused, and insultingly beautiful boyfriend. 

“You’ve got that look on your face. What’s on your mind?” 

Bitty smiles up at Jack. “You can tell when I’m thinking about something?” 

“Of course. You always do this thing where you bite your bottom lip and your eyebrows get all scrunchy.” 

“My eyebrows are not scrunchy!” Bitty laughs and pretends to shove Jack. “I was just thinking about last year and all those mornings we spent together at checking practice.”

Jack smiles down at Bitty and laces their fingers together, pulling them close. “Those were some good times, huh?” 

“Yeah. They were so brutal sometimes, especially at the beginning when I thought you didn’t like me, but I’m grateful we had them.”

“Good. You’ve gotten a lot better at taking checks, so I’m glad they worked.” 

“Mr. Zimmerman, you know that’s not what I was talking about.” Bitty pretends to be insulted, but it’s full of mirth. “Besides, did they even work if I still can’t take a check without getting triggered and passing out?” 

Jack turns over his shoulder, blocking Bitty’s path, and they come to a stop. He takes Bitty’s other hand and looks directly in his eyes. “Bits, don’t say that. You know that’s not true. You’re the one who always tells me that healing isn’t linear.” 

Bitty breaks eye contact and looks down at the ice. “I know, I just feel bad about it all. You put in all that time and energy last year to help me get over my mental block, and it feels like I lost so much progress.” 

Jack brings a hand up to gently cup Bitty’s cheek, and he tilts his face up to meet his eyes again. “Hey, no. You took a really nasty check, which was still technically my fault, and those things are traumatic in so many ways. You survived with only a mild concussion because you’re strong, and you put in that work to build your strength, both mentally and physically.” Jack pauses for a quick kiss. “And I’ll always be here to help you get back up on your feet.”

Jack pushes off the ice and pulls Bitty along to resume their laps. “Besides, it gives me an excuse to spend more time with you at the best place on campus.” 

Bitty snorts. “Why am I not surprised that your favorite campus spot is Faber? Does anything ever happen in that cute head of yours that isn’t hockey?” 

Jack seems unfazed and continues skating, the sunrise basking the ice with a glittering glow. “It’s not because of hockey. Well, not  _ just _ hockey.” He glances down at Bitty, and his smile is so soft that Bitty might melt on the spot. “It’s because of you, Bits.” Yup, Bitty’s corporeal form has become one with the ice. 

“I remember this one morning, last spring, when we had checking practice together.” 

“That describes literally every single morning after you decided I needed extra training.” 

“ _ Mon chou,  _ I’m trying to talk about my feelings here.” 

“Okay hold up, I know my French is trash, but did you just call me a  _ cabbage _ ?”

“Yes,  _ mon chou. _ ”

“You’re being a dork. But please continue.” 

Jack’s hand leaves Bitty’s to affectionately ruffle Bitty’s hair. “There was this one morning when the sun was rising over Faber, kind of like it is right now. And I was hitting you with some pretty hard checks, but you just kept pushing through and shoving me off. You were so determined and focused. When I looked at you, I felt so proud. That’s when it hit me.” 

“It hit you?” They had stopped skating by now and were leaning against the boards. 

“Yeah. I think my feelings for you had already started for a while, but yeah. That moment... Bits, you should see the way the sun hits your hair. It— You glow, honey.” 

Bitty is sure that his cheeks are also glowing right now. How did an  _ ice  _ hockey rink suddenly feel so hot?

“So that’s why Faber is my favorite.” Jack brushes a few stray hairs off Bitty’s forehead, and his fingers linger on his cheek. 

Bitty is smitten. He’s an absolute goner. This fucking boy is going to be the death of him. He tugs on Jack’s shirt and crushes their lips together. Bitty can practically feel the sun illuminating their joined bodies, and Jack opens his mouth to deepen the searing kiss as Bitty threads his fingers in Jack’s hair. Bitty basks in the burning passion, feels it all over his skin, but it’s also sweet and soft and tender. Bitty tries to pour his unspoken love into Jack. Tries to fill him, make him feel as full and complete and alive as Bitty does right now. They pull apart, and Jack’s eyes are bright.

“It’s also one of the few places where I get to actually kiss you like that.” Jack’s smile falters. 

Bitty doesn’t quite know what to say to that, but he tries his best. “Honey, it’s for your career, remember?” 

“I know… It just doesn’t feel fair for you. You had to hide back home in Madison, and I don’t want to make you hide here too.” 

“It isn’t fair, but it’ll be so much harder for you in the NHL if you’re openly queer.” It doesn’t bring Bitty much comfort, but it’s the truth.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I appreciate you a lot, Bitty. Thank you for doing this for me.” 

Bitty gives a pained smile. “For us.” He tilts his face up to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek, but when he pulls back, he still feels some residual tension. Jack is still lost in thought. 

“Hey Bitty?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“How would you feel about telling our friends? Not the whole team. Just Shitty and Lardo and the rest of them.” 

Bitty feels his smile widen, and it’s a genuine smile this time. “Oh, honey. If you’re comfortable with that, goodness, of course I would love to tell them.” He pulls Jack in for a hug and buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck. Jack’s fingers card through his hair, and he feels Jack kiss the cowlick on his head. He barely hears Jack’s whisper. 

“I love you, Bits.” 

Woah. Bitty pulls back and stares at Jack. They had never said the L-word out loud before. This was major. Before he even processes it, he’s already replying  _ I love you too, Jack, _ because lord, he’s been loving Jack for months. 

They kiss, and Bitty can feel Jack’s smile against his lips. It’s playful and giddy, like when they first started dating, and bubbles float up from Bitty’s stomach. Jack plants tiny kisses along his jaw, lightly nips his earlobe, gently pushes him against the boards. Jack braces himself with one hand against the plexiglass, and the other hand is wrapped around Bitty’s waist. Bitty half-grins, half-moans into Jack’s shoulder, and his fingers dig into Jack’s ass. He hears a sharp inhale; Jack’s breathing quickens. Jack’s kisses get sloppier and more insistent, wet lips devouring Bitty’s neck. Bitty fleetingly thinks about how that’s going to leave a mark, but he can’t be bothered to actually care. When they finally part, the sun has slipped far beyond the horizon and hangs firmly in the sky. 

Jack checks his watch. “It’s already 6:00. We’re kind of behind schedule.” Bitty winds his arms around Jack’s neck and flashes a sly grin. 

“Or…we could skip checking practice for the day…and go back to the Haus…” 

  
Before he can finish his sentence, Jack is already saying an emphatic  _ Yes _ and pulling Bitty toward the locker room. Bitty giggles and grants himself an indulgent look at Jack’s perfect hockey butt. He thinks about how lucky he is to live this life and love this boy, and they skate off the rink together. 


End file.
